Disillusion
by PURGATIVESFORCHOLERA
Summary: An unsuspecting Enjolras meets the greatest terror known to man: zomgpyres.


**Okaay. So, MmeBahorel over at Abaisse, made a comment about how only Enjolras sparkles in the sun, after which I made a comment that Enjolras is the only vampire to sparkle in the sunlight, and look awesome whilst doing so. Loony commented that she would die if someone wrote a fic about it. **

**The lovely Colonel Despard already started a fic along those lines, which I would review, but ff's review system is down. AGAIN. So here's my cracky fail attempt. If you're confused about any words, they created the dictionary for that exact reason.**

**Disclaimer: Not an old Frenchie. If I were, I'd die of squee. I don't own Twatlight, and I cannot fathom why I would ever want to. Perhaps to raise fangirls' hopes, and then smash it by sending out a cracked copy—but that's not do-able, as the book does that itself.**

He had no clue where he was, what he was doing here, or why he was here. His last coherent thought was that of something unsubstantial to one less dedicated to the cause of liberty as he. What a terribly grotesque place! Freezing in the middle of June? What kind of hell was he in? He certainly could not remember Paris ever being this peculiar—that being said, Paris is Paris. Brushing off his blond locks—quite honestly, he did not see what Courfeyrac was so enthralled about. His hair had curls. Pray tell, what is the point of this, Aimery? "Camille. _Camille. _You do not know how terribly jealous I am right now—or very possibly, you are aware. I've worked tirelessly for MY hair to be curly like that! Quite frankly, I do not see how you can just brush it off!" He stood up, adjusting his waist-coat as to look presentable, shivering slightly when a gust of wind blew, and headed in the direction that queer sign in some language or another pointed.

**

Oh yeaaah. This was the life. Chilling with his bitches, whacking some hoes, slapping some asses; life was good. Perhaps too good. But he wasn't a stuffy Englishman, so why should he care? And who said things like "perhaps"? Nerds, that's who. Ahh, he remembered in 1950, when he gave a swirlee to that ugly nerdy geek. God, how he hated that kid. Being good at school? Without cheating? Nothing infuriated him more.

"Hey, bitch." He started, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling; when Bella turned, he finished his statement. "Come over here so I can warn you about my horridness, and beat you up a bit, okay?"

Sighing when she did so, he rolled his ringers, looking at them with rapt attention when he heard a snap. Honestly, this job was too easy at times.

**

"Oh, bother. Why didn't I agree to take English lessons from Combeferre when he offered? I shall, no doubt, be stuck in this trashhole for a couple days more—and I do not even speak the native tongue."

He frowned slightly, looking about him. Surely he would find a horse of some sorts wandering around? Turning abruptly as a gust of wind blew past him, he looked forward, only to find a queer metal object buzzing past. "Pray tell: what was _that_, exactly? The newest carriage model?"

Another car buzzed past, Enjolras waving frantically, looking at the more puzzled when the thing stopped.

"Excuse me, dear sir. But what_ is_ that strange invention you're currently occupying?"

The driver stared blankly at him; his expression finally breaking to be replaced with a look of utter vexation. "Sorry, buddy. I can't understand you, y'know?"

Watching as the car sped off once more, Enjolras huffed, straightening his clothes, and trudging on, and commenting softly, "What a rude man!"

**

"Bitch, where the fuck are you?" Edward thundered, smashing his beer mug on the crystalline table. God, the whore couldn't even afford _real _crystal. What a fucking pussy.

"Where do you think I am, dearie-kins?"

"Obviously not on my cock," he scoffed, glancing up at her flabbergasted expression. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I harm your all-too-sensitive feelings? Yeah, well, too fucking bad. Get over it."

Her face seemed to be in a permanent pensive expression, before lifting in a smile, sliding down to throw her arms over his shoulders. "It's okay, dearie-kins. I still love you, even though you abuse me daily."

"That's right, bitch. And if you didn't, well, you simply would "mystically disappear". Yeah, fucking right. Even I find it stupid." He laughed manically, finishing his own threat—not aware of the petrified light in Bella's eyes.

**

"Forks? My God, what an odd name. It's as if Courfeyrac named all these towns, picking them from a nonsensical list pick at random."

He shivered once more, wrapping his arms about his lithe body. The wind had not died down from the time he was on the highway, to the city. Maybe if he trudged into town, he could find a small tavern, or cafe, and take refuge in there Regardless of the fact that he very possibly understood nothing of this strange land, and its truly queer people.

"Oh, how I wish Combeferre were here. He could translate—and very well might have guided me about this newly discovered town."

What if this was to be his end? He couldn't very well help the republic from this obscure fantasy land with metal horses, staggering temperatures, and ridiculous cultural aspects. If he ever had a smidge of interest in the English culture, this strange trip had ruined all that. He vowed to never travel to England—dreadful place, that is. A place where the people adored, and supported the kings, spoke in their awful accents, cursed the French, eat rip-offs of the croissant—no. Combeferre would not be able to sway his opinion on this matter. Regardless of how tirelessly he tried—he would be stanch in his opinion.

**

"Bitch, I want to show you fat ass off in town. Grab your pitiful shoes, you slut."

"But sweetie-kins--" she protested, receiving a slap across the face for her transgressions.

"Are you questioning me, harlot?" he demanded harshly, grabbing her hair in his hand; in his free hand, he felt up her breasts. Ahh, life was good. Especially life with his passive-aggressive slut. He felt like Heffner. Basically, he _was_ Heffner. A 104 year old banging a 17 year old. And holy fuck, turd on fire, the sex was_ good. _He knew the whore was experienced; how could she not? With a brain such as hers, and a body like that? Damn right. No wonder why he hadn't felt any resistance sliding into that wet pussy. God damn bitch.

"Whore, let's try and sell you to that rich snob over there, okay?" He shoved her back, pushing her into the throng of people, and propelling her out into the empty space, where that bastard was walking.

"Excuse me, sir. But could I happen to bother you to buy this whore off me? She's very experienced, and will do anything you desire."

Frowning slightly as the man babbled incessantly, about God knows what. And holy fuck—what was he saying? Non, je ne croi pas. Où suis-je? "Yeah, yeah. That's great. In any case, she'll suck your dick, do a dance, swallow, strip, or act like a moron. "

He paused for a moment, carefully overlooking her. Turning back to Enjolras, he rephrased his comment, "Not like the last one is too hard. She does it a daily basis, even if she doesn't know it."

As the man went on, and on, He felt a need to stop him. "God, you're pretty. Wanna fuck?" Grinning as the man suddenly ceased opening that glorious mouth, he envisioned it performing other tasks. "Excusez-moi?"

"You can "moi", me anytime you want, babe." He commented, pushing against his shoulder softly. He watched as the man's faced turned down, echoing utter and sheer distaste. A slap sounded a second later, pushing Cullen into his whore's arms, her fretting about his health.

"Don't touch me unless I permit you to do so, okay slut?" He brushed off the germs, shivering slightly at the mere concept of her. "Oh come on! I'll take you back to my place!" he paused, receiving no response, "I'll be gentle if you're a virgin!"

"Ta gueule!"

He pouted, as the mysterious stranger walked away. "Aww, don't be that way!" Aww, god. He sincerely wanted to fuck that ass. Whack it, do anything. A lot more than he could do with this whore.

"Bitch, go back to the apartment. I'm going to hit you over the head with a lamp."

**

"Where _were _you, Camille? It's awfully peculiar for you to miss a meeting, even more so if you're sick. I checked at your apartment, on the chance that you may be incapacitated but it was to no avail. Your land-lady is a controlling shrewd, I must say. Honestly, it's as if she thought I went over to engage you in intercourse."

Enjolras shook his head slowly, fanning him as he responded. "Don't ask, Audric. I suspect that even if you asked, I couldn't tell you."

He frowned, shifting his weight on his arms as he leaned on the table. "Oh, come now, Camille. It couldn't have been as horrid as you describe."

He shook his head once more, sighing when he saw Courfeyrac slip in from the corner of his eye. "You do not know that."

"Oh, but I do. After all, I've been to—"

"London?"

As Combeferre frowned, intent on launching into a full-blown rant about what Courfeyrac found terrible about London, about how glorious its restaurants, and cafes; hotels, and historical sites were, Enjolras massaged his temples tiredly, issuing this final command:

"Shut up, Courfeyrac."


End file.
